


These Are the Moments

by Kavi Leighanna (kleighanna)



Series: Ella!Verse [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Baby!Fic, F/M, Family, Kid!Fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-03-23 09:52:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3763684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleighanna/pseuds/Kavi%20Leighanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having a kid is not easy. Having a kid and being a superhero? Well that's a whole other kind of complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Uncle Bucky & Ella

**Author's Note:**

> I'm vaguely trying to consolidate my ficlets? Apparently I'm not always consistent with my tags and I'd love to have one link to all of the Ella'verse stuff. So here! *throws fic at readers*
> 
> (Sorry AT!)

They let him babysit. 

It shocks him. Ella’s still an infant, five months at most. And he is an internationally renowned assassin they’re trusting with this tiny, innocent life. His goddaughter’s life. 

Ella Margaret Rogers. 

And of course Steve would name his daughter after Peggy. Assuming it had even been Steve’s idea of course. Bucky’s known Maria long enough to know the woman would want her kid named after as many strong women as she could get her fists on. 

She’s been the light of Avengers’ Tower. They’ve all held her, Natalya included, but he hasn’t touched her since that first time in the hospital. He hasn’t been able to. Who trusts him with an infant? 

Yet here he is, in Steve and Maria’s huge family suite of the Tower, looking down at Ella in her crib. Her arms flail, her legs follow, and she gives him what must be a smile. She’s making noises now too. The baby books he keeps hidden away say she’s trying to talk. For now though, it’s just screams.

He finds himself smiling down at her, unable to stop himself. A tiny innocent life, so much to give, so much still sacred. He’d vowed long ago, back when he’d first found out Maria was pregnant that nothing would happen to Maria or this little thing. Nothing will touch them so long as he can make a difference. Steve deserves it. So does Maria. They deserve this chance. 

And Ella, Ella doesn’t know. She doesn’t know the lives he’s changed, the ones he’s taken. She doesn’t know that he’s been a pawn his whole life, that he hadn’t known much more before he’d been convinced to come back to New York. She doesn’t know his strength, his ruthlessness, that he’s still trying to atone for sins he can’t forget, no matter how little control he had over them to begin with. 

She’s just Ella. 

And he’s just Bucky. 

So the next time she flails he reaches down with a low chuckle, runs his flesh hand down the front of her. She cries out and flails harder, manages to catch his thumb in her tiny fist. His breath catches as she gives him that gummy smile, as she cries out again maybe even laughs a little. At least he’s pretty sure it’s a laugh. 

It’s the first time he really thinks Steve and Maria had known what they were doing, not only in bringing Ella into their lives, but in making him godfather. He loves Steve, Maria, his Natalya, but they know his past. They know what he’s done. Not Ella. 

So he leans in, picks her up. She squeals in happiness, bounces in his arms and he chuckles. 

“Come on, zvezda moya. Let’s go cause some trouble.”


	2. The PTA Ficlet

There are a number of reasons Steve joined Ella’s PTA. He likes being involved in his daughter’s life, for one. It’s important to him to feel like he knows what’s going on at her school, in her life, her friends and their parents and the teachers she could have. 

(He and Maria have been vetting her teachers since day one. Knee-jerk reaction sometimes, but after what happened that summer before she started first grade, well, they’re a little more careful. The teachers need to understand what they’re up against, after all.) 

He’d expected it to be easy, in a sense. As a man accustomed to dealing with the World Security Council and Tony Stark, he’d figured the PTA would be a walk in the park. And oh, boy had he be so very, very wrong. 

It’s not that they’re terrible people. Actually, most of them are amazing and dedicated with all of the same goals in mind. The problem is that sometimes, the path to those goals is, well, different. And that’s how he finds himself rubbing a hand against his forehead on a Saturday afternoon he would much rather be spending with Ella and Maria in the park, trying to put together the school’s annual June carnival. 

It’s like herding cats. 

So he slips out in the middle of a debate on a bouncy castle - a  _bouncy castle,_  he never would have thought there were so many safety concerns, or that ‘chaos’ could be considered a problem when they’re talking about an elementary school - thumb already pressed to her number on speed dial. 

“Finally,” Maria answers. “Ella’s been asking about when you’re coming home.”

Steve looks back at the door, a little resentful and a lot frustrated. “Next time I have to sit in on a World Security Council meeting, remind me of this moment.”

She laughs, of course she does. “It’s a PTA meeting, Steve. Hardly a vote on the nuclear holocaust.”

“That, I can handle. This?" 

"It’s a parent-teacher association. A bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“We spent 20 minutes debating whether we should end the carnival at four or four-thirty.”

“You’re making that up.”

“I really wish I was,” he answers. “Now it’s whether a bouncy castle is really safe or if it will cause mass chaos.”

“It’s a  _bouncy castle_." 

And if there was ever a phrase he’d never bet would come out of Maria’s mouth, that one comes pretty damn close. 

"The way this is going, I’m not sure when I’m going to be home,” he tells her, leaning back against the wall. God, he just wants her. Her and Ella and a quiet family afternoon in the park. Is that so much to ask? “You’d better take El to the park. You know how stubborn she gets when she has her mind set." 

Her mother’s daughter. Her father’s daughter. Whatever. 

Maria hums. "Hang on." 

He hears her call Ella’s name, a muted conversation just as the principal - "Call me Elizabeth,” she’d told him once, eyes starry. But Steve likes her, a lot, likes the accommodations she’s been willing to make for them and for Ella - pokes her harried head out of the teacher’s lounge. He holds up two fingers. She makes a 'hurry up’ gesture. He can hear the volume of the argument out here. 

Over a freaking bouncy castle. 

How had this become his life? 

“Steve.”

“Still here." 

"Ella’s off to ask her Uncle Buck to take her to the park. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

“Maria, you don’t-”

But she’s already gone, and while part of him is anxious about what’s coming next, he can’t help the little thrill either. After all, it’s been a long time since he’s seen his wife in action. 

* * *

He hears her heels first. A Saturday and Maria’s wearing heels. He grins to himself, already turning to the door before the handle turns, before she stands, imposing and intimidating, at the end of the conference table. The room goes silent, all eyes turning to the new arrival. 

“Can we help you?" 

Maria glances around the room, fixes her eyes on his. "I hear we’re having some trouble planning the carnival." 

And Steve gets the absolute pleasure of watching every person in that room orient towards his wife. She takes control swiftly, easily, moves them all to a classroom with a white board and markers. It takes an hour and a half to work through the details with Maria at the helm and he can’t help but watch in awe and arousal as she handles every concern and every issue, every parent and every teacher with a deftness that would make Pepper proud. 

When that hour is up and everyone has their jobs, filing out of the classroom in renewed excitement, Steve heads right for his wife. She’s got her phone out, half way through a text message. 

"Just letting Barnes know we’re on our way and we can- Hey!" 

"Later,” he tells her, already tugging her close, slipping her phone into his pocket. “We’re going home so I can have you first.”

The arousal spikes in her face - he loves that he can still get her like that, a couple of simple words and his hand smoothing down her back - and she presses her palms to his chest. It’s a resistance, but a small one, so he doesn’t hesitate in taking her mouth. She responds, hot and hard, matches him move for move. 

He growls as he pulls away, realizes somewhere along the line he’s managed to get a palm on her ass. “Home, Lieutenant.”

(A few months later, the carnival goes off without a hitch. Ella’s principal approaches her with the request that she join the PTA too, but Maria politely declines. It’s not her style, not her speed and really, she doesn’t need yet another committee to usher along. 

Except when things need doing, Steve doesn’t hesitate to call his wife. Maria’s not sure if it’s because she’s that damned good or he just likes watching her in command. She’s also not sure she cares.)


	3. Ella's First Steps

Maria’s biggest fear about being a mother - aside from the terror of bringing a kid into the world she and Steve inhabit in the roles that they do - has always been the potential of missing major milestones. She already has, really. She’s missed the first time Ella flipped herself over, the first time she’d really held her head up on her own. She’d missed her first few shuffle crawls - and that had lead to a frantic baby-proofing of the apartment that had left them laughing and exhausted - and the hilarious first time Ella had laughed so hard she scared herself.

The very last thing she wants to do is set a precedent so early in her daughter’s life.

Steve’s been understanding about the whole thing. She has more pictures and videos of her daughter on her phone than she’d ever admit to and on the bad days she pulls out the video of Ella cackling at the faces Natasha makes from across the room. But sometimes, when Ella pulls herself up using Maria’s knees for balance, she finds herself praying that she’ll actually be around for the next big one. 

And her prayers pay off. 

She’s brought Ella into the office with her. It’s not unheard of, especially when Steve’s away - Washington this time, to press some flesh and smile bright. She’s working at the low table in her sitting area, an eye popping up to check on her daughter every few seconds. Ella seems perfectly happy bashing a stuffed Iron Man against the floor. Maria’s already sent Pepper two videos of the hilarity. 

She’s just looked back down, an affectionate smile playing around her mouth, when her daughter calls out. 

“Mama!" 

She sees the little hands first. Little hands on the low table and she quietly shuffles a couple of papers out of her daughter’s reach. Then comes the top of her little head, then those blue, blue eyes that remind her so much of Steve. Steve always argues that they’re hers. 

"Hi baby,” she murmurs. Ella’s little grin comes next and Maria will never admit how much it melts her heart. So she crawls her fingers across the table, slowly then a few steps quick until she brushes her daughter’s fingers. Ella laughs and Maria chuckles with her. 

“Boss?”

Henry gets a raised eyebrow for the interruption but they both know it might be a little more embarrassment from being caught goofing with her daughter on industry time. Not that any one cares, but Maria’s still trying to get used to the whole thing. The balance of mother and badass Security Director of Stark Industries. 

“Those reports?" 

Maria pushes herself up, lets her hand slide across Ella’s head as she heads for Henry. 

She hears "Mama!” at the same time Henry’s eyes widen. She turns, terrified, only to find Ella standing on her own. She has that look on her face that always makes her think of Steve just seconds before he does something reckless and stupid. But Ella has always been strangely methodical for a toddler. 

“Ella?" 

Her little legs twitch and Maria’s eyes widen. 

"Boss,” Henry breathes and she can hear the awe in his voice too. 

Maria has no idea what makes her do it, absolutely no clue what kind of instinct has her stepping back toward Ella, stopping a dozen baby steps away. She can hear Henry fumbling behind her, his phone, she bets, because they can both feel the anticipation in the air. 

“Come on, baby,” she finds herself murmuring. She crouches down, falls to her knees and holds out a hand as she fumbles for the camera on her own phone. “You going to walk?" 

Ella frowns as she watches her mother. Flaps her arms a little but keeps her balance. Maria’s pretty impressed, actually. She checks to make sure her camera’s filming, then holds out a hand. 

"You coming, sweetheart?" 

Ella wobbles again, falls. Maria chuckles as Ella starts babbling to herself, toddler-frustrated. But her daughter is nothing if not determined and she pushes herself up again. "Mama.”

“Right here,” Maria says, that same calm, cool voice, despite the adrenaline and excitement racing through her veins. Her daughter’s first steps. She can only hope. 

And then sure enough, a few moments later, like Ella was gathering her courage and determination, Ella very carefully puts one foot in front of the other. It takes time, a few minutes before she takes the next step. But by the third, her determined little girl, sends herself all but running forward, the momentum pitching her into Maria’s lap. 

Maria laughs as she catches Ella, wraps her arms tight around her daughter and hides her teary eyes in Ella’s little neck. She breathes for a moment, baby powder and the sensitive skin soap, hugging Ella tight. 

“Look at you, baby,” she says when she finally thinks she can pull back. Ella’s babbling, some of her words in her own language, others a repetition of Mama and something she thinks resembles Henry’s name. 

“Look at you, Princess,” Henry says and Maria pulls back so Henry can squeeze Ella’s arm. “First steps! You’re growing up so fast.”

Maria laughs and if it’s watery, neither she nor Henry mention it. “Steve’s going to be so pissed he missed this.”

Henry smiles, remembers the look on Maria’s face that he has on film. Maria will send Steve her video, of course, but Henry thinks his is going to be the one Captain America keeps. 

(And Steve, the sap, leaves her a message with tears shaking in his voice, the pride so painfully obvious it makes her smile. 

When he texts her that he’s on his way up to their apartment a few days later, Ella and Maria are at home. Maria sits with Ella a handful of steps from the front door, holding her daughter around her tiny hips as she bounces. Then there’s the scratch of the key in the lock and Ella’s head turns. 

“Dada!”

And the little girl is off, those little stumbling steps that have not stabilized yet, but racing right to her father. Steve’s face in that moment is the most beautiful thing Maria’s seen since their wedding day.) 


	4. You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.

“Please. Maria, please wake up. You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

It becomes his mantra. Day in, day out, as he sits by his wife’s bedside. It’s stupid and idiotic and  _he_  should be the one there, not Maria. Ella, Ella will survive without him. She’s already strong and smart and amazing, but Maria… 

He can’t raise their daughter without a mother. 

He can’t raise their daughter without her.

He’s not sure he can do much of anything without her. 

So every day he visits. Every day he walks into that hospital room. 

“She’ll wake up,” Clint tells him when they cross paths. “You know how stubborn she is. And there’s no way in hell she’d leave her own kid behind. Not after what she went through.”

(The Avengers have been to visit of course, because Maria is one of theirs. For Clint and Natasha, well. Maria was one of theirs long before Steve showed up. Steve’s pretty sure the only person who rivals his record for time spent at Maria’s bedside is Fury, because if Maria’s Clint’s or Natasha’s, she was Fury’s first.)

Still, it’s days before she wakes, days before he sees those eyes, days where he doesn’t see his daughter much, where the only thing he can think is that she can’t let go, that if there’s ever a time to fight it’s now, when she has everything, when he has everything, when  _they_  have everything. 

(It had been a stupid mission. A stupid mission and a stupid powder that Coulson’s famous FitzSimmons can’t even break and he is at the end of his rope. He really is. He needs his wife. His daughter needs her mother. It’s killing him, being so powerless.)

“Maria, please. Please wake up. I can’t-”

He hears the groan first, sees the way her eyelashes flutter. Then it’s those eyes, glassy with whatever drug had knocked her out that blink open at him. 

“You can’t do this without me, I know,” she croaks and he doesn’t care that it is  _not_  funny, she’s awake. She groans again and raises a hand to her head. “God, Steve, I didn’t know I married such a drama queen.”

He laughs, joyful and watery as he leans into kiss her, slow and thorough. “I’ll call the doctor.” Except he doesn’t move right away. He keeps watching her, the grimace that keeps tightening her mouth. “I’m so glad you’re awake.”

She hums and the grimace curves into some semblance of a smile. “You would have been fine, Steve.”

No, he thinks as he presses the button to call the doctors, he wouldn’t have been. And he is so, so glad he doesn’t have to try.


	5. The sketchbook

In the early days of Ella’s life, he completely forgets about it. 

It is not his fault. Ella wakes every two to three hours for a while, manages four or five at the top end and he and Maria take turns. He insists. 

(Actually, he’s already figured he’ll basically be Mr. Mom. He is definitely okay with that and knows it has nothing to do with whether or not Maria wants to spend time with Ella. The minute he’d seen Maria with their daughter he’d known they were both in this, completely. But Maria has the steadier, better paying job, so he’s willing to relinquish the breadwinning to her. Whenever she goes back to work.)

They’re sleep deprived and busy, trying to figure out how to parent an infant, sleep and get housework done. It’s chaotic, to say it lightly. 

He’s cleaning up his little studio corner when he finds it. 

He’s been feeling the itch to draw for a while now. Maria’s taken Ella to visit Phil and his SHIELD team (“Taking her into the office?” he’d teased, even if he was a little grateful for the break) and he can feel it in his fingers. 

He’s really just looking for a book with spare paper. He’s not picky, knows he’s got at least two or three books going as it is. What he doesn’t expect is to find one filled with his sketches of his pregnant wife. 

That’s when the idea hits. 

It takes time. Patience. Careful planning. And then, five months into their new life with their beautiful baby girl, he gets the opportunity. 

Date night. 

(It serves two purposes and it’s entirely Maria’s idea. Bucky’s been weird around Ella since the beginning and Maria’s never been one for coddling. So she informs ‘Uncle Bucky’ he’s on babysitting duty and that’s that.)

Pepper pulls some strings and then he’s sitting across from his wife in one of Manhattan’s quieter low-key restaurants, trying to focus on the menu when all he can focus on is her. 

“I’ve missed you.”

She looks up from her own menu perusal, a smirk dancing over her mouth. “Sap. You see me every day.”

Her eyes say all the things she doesn’t verbalize. She’s missed him too, more than she’ll ever say in public, probably more than she’ll ever say in private too. He’d learned a long time ago how to read her, how the words are less important than everything else. 

He reaches for her hand, thrills when she lets him actually weave their fingers together. He feels a little clingy tonight, nervous in a strange way. And all because of the plain wrapped package still resting at his elbow. She must know, he thinks, because her eyes keep darting to it, then back to him. 

“Not yet.”

It makes her laugh as she runs her thumb over his hand. “You’re having a hard time waiting." 

He is. He wants her to see it, is the thing. He’d never anticipated showing her, not really. Most of his sketches are private and she’s incredibly respectful of that. But this, she thinks, is different. Entirely different. 

Because this is his wife the way he’d seen her with Ella inside her. The way he still sees her as she interacts with their daughter. 

The beauty of new life. 

"Steve.”

He sighs, wants to nag her for making him give in. She has that ability (and he’s not naive enough to think Ella won’t pick it up), but he can’t honestly say he’s particularly upset about this one. 

So he slides the package across the table, tries not to feel regret when she pulls his hand from hers. She knows what it is the second she sees the cover and he can hear her breath catch. Emotion takes over her face (she’s been so incredibly expressive since Ella came into the world. He doesn’t think it will last but it is beautiful) and she strokes the cover with a soft touch. 

“Steve.”

“Open it,” he urges, because if this is what she looks like when she’s just looking at the cover, he needs to see her face when she sees what’s in it. 

And it is totally worth it. 

It’s love there. Love and awe and wonder as she flips open the cover, takes in the first charcoal sketch of herself. He remembers it both because his memory is impeccable and because he’d looked through the book one last time before wrapping it. 

He finds himself scooting to the other side of the table, tucking himself close to her elbow so they can look at the drawings together. She can’t be much more than three months along in that first one. He remembers catching her in front of the bathroom mirror, looking at herself in profile and the very, very slight swelling of her abdomen. 

“I remember thinking that’s her,” Maria breathes, just loud enough that he can hear it beneath the hum of the restaurant. “It was real, then.”

“You were late for work that day,” he replies. “You came back to bed.”

Her throat works, reflexively he thinks. “I needed you.”

It’s his turn to swallow around the lump in his throat. She’d promised him once, a long,  _long_  time ago, that she would never need him. She would never need anyone. 

They flip through a few pages before she stops again, this time on a smudged drawing of her completely out cold on the couch. 

“Is that my office?”

He chuckles and kisses her cheek. “I wasn’t stalking you,” he promises as he digs up his phone. “Henry sent me this.”

And sure enough, there on the little screen is the same picture, her arm wrapped protectively over her protruding stomach, blanket curled beneath her chin. Her finger traces over his work, his signature scribbled at the bottom out of habit. 

“I think I like this one better.”

There’s more, of course. There’s her napping against the arm of the couch, curled into a ball, face peaceful. There’s her in formal dress, a Stark function, as always. She looks gorgeous there too, he thinks, mother and agent in equal measure. Warrior and woman. There are plenty of those, in her office, curled upon the bed with her tablet, always with a hand close to Ella. 

“Steve.”

“Keep going,” he urges. These are beautiful, he thinks, because he knows he’s captured so many different emotions, so many different things they’d gone through in those nine months before Ella’s birth, but that’s nothing on the ones that come after. 

And sure enough, he hears her breath catch as she finds the first one, the one of her in the hospital, sweaty, haggard, but she’s got Ella against her chest, her smile the most joyful thing he’s ever seen. 

“Our baby girl,” she whispers. 

He flips the next page for her (Maria holding Ella as the sun rises) and the next (Ella, Maria’s hand on her stomach as her little arms flail). It’s next one, however, that all but stops his heart. 

Maria’s in the rocking chair in the corner of Ella’s room, the baby cuddled to her chest. Bed time. 

“You know this is my favourite,” Maria says. 

Steve holds his breath. He can’t help it. He can see the tenderness in her eyes, the way she traces her finger over the edge of the page. It isn’t often that she goes this soft in public and he is not going to ruin the moment. 

“Not because she’s not crying,” his wife goes on, laughs a little. Ella’s actually a pretty good baby. He’s dreading teething though. 

“But she is quiet. It’s just the two of us, her room dim.”

“Mommy time.”

She rolls her eyes, a smile tugging at her mouth. (He’s been calling her 'mommy’ since the start, even though he knows she’d prefer 'mama’. Ever since Natasha had mentioned it, Ella surprisingly comfortable in the crook of the Black Widow’s arm.) 

“Something like that." 

She looks up at him then, her eyes so bottomlessly blue that he has to forcibly restrain himself from leaning in and taking her mouth. He can see so much there, the unconditional love for him and for their daughter, the fear and the admiration, how grateful she is that she’s doing this with him. He can’t stop himself then, can’t restrain himself in the face of all of that, the things she never says but he knows with such a painful clarity. 

"I love you,” he tells her. “I’m so, so in love with you. I’m so, so in love with her.”

The breath she releases is shaky with the same emotion, the same overwhelming feeling of having everything in a world where that never seemed possible. Her hand comes up to his face, cups his cheek as she looks at him, lets him lean forward and press his forehead to hers. 

“I love you. I love her.”

It all crawls up his throat then, how worth it this all his, having her, having Ella (and Bucky and Natasha, Clint, Pepper, Bruce, the whole gang of them). This scrawny kid from Brooklyn. 

“Let’s go home,” he finds himself saying, already tugging on her hand. 

“Steve.”

“To our place.” The place they’ve kept despite the glorious family suite Tony’s given them in the Tower. 

(They’ll need a new place, he realizes. A new place for the three of them because Ella won’t fit into an apartment that tiny. A place that is theirs from the start. He likes the sound of that.)

He sees the yearning on her face, has her standing next to him in the next breath. 

“Take out and our couch,” he murmurs as he leans in, presses his mouth to her cheek. “You and me.”

“Yes.”

(They spend a quiet night reconnecting as Steve and Maria. When they get back to the Tower, they find Bucky sacked out on the couch, baby monitor on the floor next to him. Maria takes a picture, sends it to Nat just as Ella starts whimpering. 

And that’s the next picture he draws, his wife dressed for a date, bottle in hand as she rocks back and forth, love all over her face. 

His girls.)


	6. Implied soccerdad!Steve

It happens smack dab in the middle of the summer from hell. At least, that’s what Maria’s taken to calling it. The summer where she can just barely make it home for bedtime most nights, let alone show up for the myriad of things Steve signs Ella up for. 

Honestly, both Ella and Steve are pretty great about it. In part, it’s because Steve doesn’t go on nearly as many missions anymore and he’s quite the doting dad. Ella… Well, as long as Mama’s home for bedtime, Ella’s pretty content to let Daddy drive her anywhere and everywhere. 

(And he does. He has a thing about picking her up from school and then there’s swimming and baseball and soccer… She’s honestly starting to wonder if maybe Steve’s living out an active childhood through their daughter. But since Ella doesn’t complain, she doesn’t really think much of it.)

But smack dab in the middle of that summer from hell, Stark Industries has to call on the Avengers. It’s Steve’s first long-term mission in over a year and it leaves Maria and Ella to fend for themselves. 

Not that it’s a bad thing. To be honest, it’s a bit of a privilege for them both. Steve’s been on a huge health kick, especially with Ella, and so with Steve gone, Maria and Ella take advantage. Maria gets Happy to pick Ella up at school and drive her to the tower. Then, when Ella gets bored, they venture out into the city to see what new food truck they can discover. 

And they discover many. 

It takes Maria a few days to realize Ella’s bouncing around a little more than usual, that after her soccer games and her baseball games, her shoulders aren’t around her ears when Maria tucks her in. At first, she feels guilty. Had she been putting all this pressure on Ella? Had she made Ella think that maybe she wasn’t good enough for Mama anymore, that work was more important than her daughter?

The idea haunts her for a good three days. Then, with her head lulling against the seat on the way home after baseball, Ella speaks up. 

“I’m glad you’re taking me to baseball, Mama.”

Maria glances back into the rearview. “Oh?”

Ella sighs, this big gusty thing that sounds more like a put upon teenager than a little girl. “Daddy yells at the umpire.”

Yeah, that doesn’t surprise her. “Daddy takes baseball very seriously.”

“I know, but Mama. This isn’t real baseball.”

And Ella knows ‘real’ baseball. In fact, she even has a team. Steve is appalled that she’s a Phillies fan - so is Maria and her Chicago loyalty at that - but Ella can’t get over how ridiculous their mascot looks. She loves it. 

“No,” Maria agrees carefully, in a tone she knows her daughter understands as ‘tell me more’.

“Sometimes, when I get a strike and Daddy thinks it should be a ball, he talks to the umpire. In his Captain voice. And the umpire changes his mind.”

_Oh._

Oh Lordy. 

Maria keeps her eyes on the road, bites hard at her inner cheek. “What do you think?”

“That it’s the umpire’s choice,” Ella responds promptly. “Daddy always says that’s what they’re there for, even in real baseball. And the umpires never change their mind in real baseball, even when Daddy  _and_  Uncle Bucky are yelling at the TV.”

“Well, you know the umpires can’t hear Daddy and Uncle Bucky from the couch,” Maria points out. 

“I wish the umpire couldn’t hear Daddy from the stands too. The other kids think I told him to do it. It’s not fair, Mama.  _You_  don’t yell at the umpire.”

Well, that’s a lie. She does. Often. Because she is competitive and sometimes she feels like the umpire doesn’t have eyes. But she thinks she understands what Ella means anyway. 

“Have you talked to Daddy?”

Ella drops her head, her grimy hands squeezing the Iron Man plushy she’s had since she was a baby. 

(Maria would be more upset that she takes that damn toy everywhere if it wasn’t for the fact that she is fastidious about both her Captain America plushy and her Bucky Bear. She doesn’t care how ratty Iron Man looks at the end of the day, but when one of her friends had accidentally torn Bucky Bear’s arm, she’d thrown the temper tantrum to end all temper tantrums. 

Yeah, Maria can’t be upset about that.)

“I don’t want Daddy to get mad and think I don’t like my baseball. I can throw the ball the farthest.”

Maria makes a sympathetic noise. 

“Will you come to all my games, Mama? Maybe you can stop Daddy from yelling at the umpires.”

And this is exactly what Maria hates because the summer has been  _hell_  and there’s nothing she abhors more than making a promise to her daughter and not being able to keep it. But Ella so rarely asks for anything, is usually painfully and terrifyingly understanding about her mother’s job and how the hell is she supposed to turn down a direct request?

“You know what, Bug? I’ll see what I can do.”

Ella beams.

(The first Thursday Steve returns, Maria and Ella put the change into action. Happy picks Ella up from school and drops her at Maria’s office. It’s a living, walking, talking alarm clock. When Ella’s hungry, they text Steve what food tuck they’re jonesing for. Steve meets them there. 

And when Steve crosses his arms with every intention of stepping up to the umpire when Ella’s at bat, Maria rests her hand on his arm and subtly shakes her head. 

“It was a strike!”

“Ella trusts the umpire,” Maria murmurs quietly. “She thinks the way you step in is unfair.”

“Maria, the umpire is wrong-”

“Ella doesn’t see it that way. It seems your daughter has inherited your sense of absolutely fair play. No parental influence necessary.”

She can see the emotions pass over his face, the hurt and the pride in equal measure. “It was too high.”

But his passion has diminished, Maria can tell. It usually does when Ella displays some characteristic of his, no matter what he’s frustrated about. 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t grumble at her every single time. Sometimes, Maria agrees with him, but from that day forward, they never let Ella know that the umpire is absolutely, completely and utterly blind to the strike zone.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finds Bucky in Ella's nursery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically inspired by [this image.](http://swarekfamilythings.tumblr.com/post/120354979280/babyphotography1)
> 
> It was supposed to be fluffy dammit!

It’s Steve that hears the cry first. It usually is these days with Maria back at work and Steve playing Mr. Mom. He doesn’t feel bad or short-changed, no matter how many times he and Maria go around in circles about it. At the end of the day, her job is both safer and really the breadwinning occupation of the household. He doesn’t think that makes her less of a mother the same way he doesn’t feel like pulling himself from active duty makes him selfish. 

So he crawls out of bed, but by the time he’s reached the door, Ella’s cries have stopped. 

He’s in her doorway the next moment, on edge and aware. It’s the only logical reason for why it takes him a minute to realize who’s cradling Ella at the window and stand down. 

“Hey Buck. Didn’t know you were back,” he says, running a hand over his forehead before starting towards them. 

“Couple hours ago,” comes Bucky’s scratchy voice. Steve stops dead in the middle of Ella’s nursery. It’s not a good sound. 

“Don’t worry,” Bucky says with a smirk that doesn’t go beyond his mouth. “I showered first. I know the rules.”

Steve chuckles, but the humour and lightheartedness fades from his face pretty quick. “Everything okay?” 

They’ve only had Ella, physical infant Ella, not Ella in Maria’s stomach, for about six months, but Bucky’s not the first one to just show up out of the blue to spend time with her. Two days ago Pepper had made the trip home with Maria just to cuddle Ella’s sleeping body. 

He’s not a stranger to needing a reminder of the good things in life, but he sure is glad Maria hasn’t started talking about moving out of the Tower just yet. 

“When’d she start sucking her thumb?”

Steve groans. “’Bout a month ago now? It’s going to be hell to ween her off that.”

“You been reading again?” Bucky asks, gently bouncing Ella when she starts fussing again. Ella’s fingers clench and release over his metal shoulder, but she settles quickly. Steve finds himself wondering if maybe the gentle whirring of Bucky’s arm lulls his daughter better than any lullaby. 

“I’m always reading,” Steve admits. “She’s growing so fast.”

Bucky turns his head, watches Ella’s fingers brush her cheek, watches her eyes flutter before she settles again. “You ever want to give her back?”

Steve chuckles. “Every time I can’t get her to stop screaming. I’m terrified for teething, or the first time she actually realizes Maria leaves during the day. My first mission back in the field... Kids make your life complicated.”

“But you love her.”

“More than anything.”

Bucky nods, rocks Ella just a little. It doesn’t seem conscious to Steve, a habitual movement they all make while holding the baby. “Sometimes I think... But they took that away from us. From Natalia and I both.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say to that, how to comfort his best friend when he sounds so raw, so devastated. 

“I remember being in Thailand with her. When I was Him.”

The Winter Soldier. 

“Family was selling secrets. Didn’t have much of a choice really. Six mouths to feed, not to mention mom and dad. Oldest was... sixteen?”

Steve just nods. It’s better to let him talk, Steve’s learned. It isn’t often he does, outside of the mandatory therapy sessions. 

“They were holed up in some sort of safe house. SHIELD’s, I think. Natalia and I went in, bypassed security... In hindsight I think it was a test. I hadn’t been wiped in a while and she was young...”

He can put the rest of it together. 

“The guards were easy, you know? So sure they were safe. I remember the one guy’s face, the horror and fear when he saw me.” Bucky smiles, an ugly twisted thing that makes Steve want to wrap Bucky’s arms tighter around Ella, to ground him to here and now and no then. “But the father... guy just raised his chin. Natalia had the mother, the kids. And then that damn oldest one dove for her. I didn’t think.”

Silence settles for a moment. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened next. 

“I’ve never heard people scream like that. Never like that.” 

Steve’s breath shakes when he releases it, filled with emotion. Bucky’s face is blank and Steve thinks that if it weren’t for the absolute knowledge that Bucky would never, ever hurt Ella, he’d be reaching for his daughter.

“You know, if anything ever happened to her, I’m not sure I could hang on.”

“Buck, nothing’s going to happen to her,” Steve says immediately, alarm bells blaring in his head. This was the old Bucky, the one still trying to recover his memories. The Bucky from before Natasha, before Maria and Costa Rica. Before Ella. “Where the hell were you? What were you doing?”

“I’d become Him.”

Steve forces himself to suck in a deep breath, to shove down the panic welling in his chest. “We’d all cross that line.”

“Please. You wouldn’t.”

“In a second. So would Maria. So would Thor and Bruce.” Steve steps closer, grips his friend’s shoulder. “Nothing’s going to happen to her. Ever. Not with people like us. Not with the parents she has and not with you and Nat watching her back.  _Nothing_ , Buck.”

It takes a few minutes, and an uncomfortable cry from the infant on his shoulder, for Bucky to come back to himself. He looks startled when he does, shifts Ella immediately until he can look at her face. Her blue eyes are wide, fixed on him. Her little palm comes up, smacks his chin before she tries to dig her fingers into his mouth. 

Bucky laughs, playfully nips at those little fingers and Steve can literally watch the tension release from his shoulders. "You should be sleeping  _zvezda moya_." 

Steve smiles, even if Bucky's Russian still throws him off. "It's probably time for dinner."

"And a diaper change," Bucky says, his nose wrinkling. 

"I'll make you a deal," Steve replies on a laugh. "I'll change her and get the bottle ready. Think you can feed her and put her down again?" 

They both know it's more than just a simple request. It's permission and trust, acknowledging it's what Bucky needs without making him admit it. 

"Deal."

Steve doesn't know how long Bucky stays, how long he holds Ella in the rocking chair - and isn't that a sight. All he knows is that he finds Ella sprawled in her crib the next morning, face down and asleep. Tucked carefully in the corner is her Bucky Bear. 


	8. Playground Adventures with Mama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** Gratuitous and unapologetic use of terrible, horrible stereotypes. No offence is meant by such, but you should be warned. 
> 
> Bonus points to those of you who catch interesting references to the fic that hasn't been written yet :) (Well, it's been planned and some of it's been written but there's a whole other fic that needs to take place before it can be written let alone posted.)

Alyssa has the perfect life. She has an amazing husband, a beautiful little boy, and sits on a number of boards of charitable foundations. Her house is grand and beautiful and the envy of her friends.

So when she sees the dark-haired little girl tumble forward into the dirt and hears the definitely female laughter that follows, Alyssa follows the sound with disapproval. The woman her eyes land on is indeed smiling in comfortable looking jeans and a t-shirt that’s seen better days. The little girl - Ella Rogers, Alyssa knows, because she’s in her son’s class - looks up at the woman with the broadest smile Alyssa has ever seen on her little face. 

Ella, in Alyssa’s experience, is generally a shy little thing. She hides behind her father - Steve Rogers and oh, oh Alyssa certainly likes when he’s at the playground - and even her rather terrifying Russian godparents who don’t generally socialize with other parents, but Alyssa’s not wholly sure she’s ever seen the woman before. 

Still, she’s unmistakable. 

Ella’s already brushed herself off and gone racing for the monkey bars and the woman, who can only be Ella’s mother, watches with gentle, amused eyes. But Ella looks like a little heathen and Alyssa’s sure she’s bruised, with how she’d tumbled forward. 

And Alyssa can’t help herself. “Ella, honey, did you hurt yourself?”

Ella looks absolutely startled to find someone else calling her name, and Alyssa watches with a strange sort of horror as the little girl, dirt streaked face and maybe couple of little scratches on her hands, turns shy and coy. Her little hands brush quickly at her own shirt and jeans - matching, Alyssa notices - and she tucks her hands behind her back. 

“No Mrs. Floodgate,” Ella says, polite as can be. 

“El?”

There’s a strange twist to Ella’s face Alyssa’s never seen before, like she’s fighting between two sides of herself. A thin, elegant hand lands on Ella’s head, strokes though her hair.

“Mama, this is Mrs. Floodgate. Mrs. Floodgate is Ryan’s mama.”

“Pleasure.” But the woman doesn’t hold out her hand. 

Alyssa’s back straightens. “That’s quite the tumble your daughter took.”

There’s judgment in every word, but to Alyssa’s horror, the woman just chuckles again. “She’s done worse. Haven’t you, Bug.”

And Alyssa watches as the most mischievous grin blossoms over sweet, little Ella’s face. 

“Which time, Mama?” 

Something secret passes between mother and daughter. It hits Alyssa then that the perfect little adorable Ella is just a front. It’s not all this little girl is and the idea of a little trouble maker as the daughter of Steve Rogers makes her cringe. 

“Steve works hard with her,” Alyssa finds herself saying, because the image of Steve Rogers' perfect little family is on it's way up in smoke at this woman's presence. “She’s never a mess when he’s here.”

The woman seems utterly unperturbed by the judgment, her hand still moving through Ella’s hair softly. “Quite obviously you’ve never seen them paint together.” 

To Alyssa’s dismay, Ella giggles, turns her face into the woman’s leg. And if that’s not enough Alyssa watches the woman - Ella’s  _mother,_ in case she had any doubt as to the effects of nature versus nurture. It’s so painfully obvious here - lean down to Ella’s level. Ella’s eyes are shining and bright, like she knows what kind of game they’re about to play. 

“Make you a deal, Ella-bean,” the woman says and where Alyssa's fingers are twitch to brush at the dirt that streaks the child's shirt, the woman doesn't blink. “You shimmy up that monkey bar pole and make it all the way across however you want, and we’ll take ice cream home to Daddy. Deal?” 

Alyssa is horrified. The pole has to be six or seven feet high the monkey bars at least that high. Alyssa wouldn't let Ryan near the thing. She never has. When he's eight or so, she may think about it, but six? No. 

Ella holds out a little hand. “How much time?”

“How about ten minutes? And no tricks from Aunt Nat.”

Ella pouts, but still shakes her mother’s hand. “Start the timer?”

Alyssa watches as both mother and daughter look at the watch on the woman’s thin wrist. 

“Three, two, one, go!”

Ella’s off like a shot, faster than Alyssa’s ever seen a child run. Her eyes widen as Ella leaps, clinging to the post of the monkey bars that tower six feet in the air. 

“She’ll kill herself.”

“She’s got remarkable balance,” the other woman argues as she pushes herself to her feet. But when blue eyes turn back to Alyssa, the temperature drops a few degrees. Alyssa is unaffected. At least, she pretends to be. 

“Maria Hill,” she finally introduces herself and Alyssa’s eyes widen despite herself. She follows CNN and more than simply knows this woman by name. Her reputation is unparalleled on so very many fronts. Maria makes a little hum. 

“You’ve heard of me.”

“Everyone has. Deputy Director of the disgraced SHIELD.”

Maria is unaffected. In fact, she even shrugs off Alyssa’s acerbic comment. “Or the current unchallenged head of security for Stark Industries.” She wrinkles her nose, and for a split second, Alyssa can see the beauty of her. “Steve prefers the second one.”

Alyssa feels a strange gnawing rise in her stomach. It’s an uncomfortable and frustrating feeling accompanied by a strange need to compete. She can see Ella, shimmying up the pole five feet away and Maria isn’t even watching. 

“Those bars are too high for her,” Alyssa says. “They’re for the older children.”

Maria barely glances her daughter’s way, like she feels no dire need to check on her. She does do a double take, however, and glance down at her watch. “El, you’re going to beat your own time!”

Ella’s face is triumphant as she shimmies up another couple of inches, quick and sure. “Can we ask Daddy to play in his playground again?”

And finally Maria winces. “I’m not sure he’ll be okay with that.”

Ella’s at the top now, comfortably hanging on as she eyes the monkey bars, calculating. But she does take a moment to shoot a look her mother’s way. “It was one time! And the ouchies went away with a nap. Just like Daddy.”

Alyssa expects something more than Maria’s impassive face, especially considering the whole playground has stopped to watch the byplay. She exchanges a couple of looks with other parents, disapproving and more than a little scared. Ella is more open with her mother than her father, less afraid maybe. Like maybe her mother isn’t quite as coddling, or like Ella isn’t as worried about the adoration that tends to flock around Steve Rogers. 

"Ella, maybe you should get down," one of the other parents says carefully. 

A cry rises as Ella leaps, but there isn’t a sound from the woman next to Alyssa. Ella catches the third rung in, swings back and forth before she goes for the next one, then the one after that. The whole playground watches as the six year old girl giggles as she swings, has to let go of one bar to get her legs around the other one. But she's not afraid, not of a single leap. Like she's already done the calculations in her head and knows what comes next. Eventually, Ella's hanging on the last bar, swinging back and forth. 

“Gonna drop, El?” 

Ella doesn’t seem strained at all as she hangs there, eyeing the platform. “Do I lose?”

“Of course not," Maria says. 

"I don't want to drop, Mama."

And Maria's there a split second later, taking Ella's legs and helping her slide until the little girl is perched on her mother's hip. God, they look so much alike. 

"Ella, Ella, how'd you do that!"

"Do you do gymnastics?"

"Can you teach me?"

Maria puts Ella down, makes her way back, an amused smirk on her face. “We’re thinking of putting her in gymnastics, but she’s already got soccer, baseball and swimming. I’d like at least one night with her.”

Alyssa blinks. "Who are you?"

And Maria's eyes go hard as steel, cold as ice. "I am her mother," she says and Alyssa understands with a terrifying clarity why even the senate committees seem afraid of her. "And I know what that girl is capable of."

She looks back at Ella, at the flock of kids surrounding her. "She doesn't have an easy life, Mrs Floodgate. I don't want her to be perfect, I want her to be Ella and if that means I take her home, streaked with dirt, and plop her into the bathtub, if that means she rips holes in a couple of pairs of jeans, it's a small price to pay for what we ask of her."

Alyssa doesn't know what that means, not really. Maybe in the abstract way she understands the danger of being Captain America, but not in the same way something haunted settles in the back of Maria's eyes. It's gone a split second later and an Ice Queen Cloak that makes Alyssa absolutely green with envy takes over. She's not stupid enough to miss that she's no longer looking at Ella's mother, but at the SI Head of Security, at the woman who ran a once-secret international spy organization. 

"This is my family," she says, voice low enough that no one else can hear. Alyssa would be it's long-perfected. "You don't want to know what I'm capable of when they're threatened."

"Mama." Ella comes racing over and Alyssa sees Maria utterly transform in the face of her daughter. "You promised ice cream."

"I did. Come on. Maybe we'll try and sneak cotton candy in, what do you think?"

Ella's little nose wrinkles in distaste. "Ew!"

And this woman, who had been the epitome of terrifying intelligence agent just a moment before, laughs. 


	9. Ella's Captain America Faze

When Ella hits two, she goes through a faze.

She’s always been a Daddy’s Girl, but one evening, when the toddler can’t sleep and Maria’s at her wits’ end, Steve comes home from a mission in full Captain America gear. 

And everything goes haywire. 

Honestly, Maria and Steve are utterly adamant. No matter how hard Ella begs for her own Captain America costume, they refuse. Time and time again. It has nothing to do with Ella being a normal child and everything to do with the fact that they just don’t want to encourage her. Not when Steve can be so weird about it and when they both know what he risks every time he puts on the costume.

The thing about Ella is that she is the darling of Avengers’ Tower. They know that. They all know that. And so one day, one rare day when Maria and Steve are both out of the tower and they’ve left Ella with her Uncle Bucky, they return to find their worst fears. 

“Hey Buck, I-”

Bucky looks up from the TV, though it’s not easy considering where Ella’s managed to fall asleep.

“Uh. She wanted to be a monkey?”

Maria arches her eyebrow. “In a Captain America uniform?”

“Yeah. About that.”

Steve’s already hung his head, hands on his hips. “She pouted.”

“Have you seen her pout?”

“Daily. She’s a two-year-old,” Maria laments. “We left her with you for six hours and she managed to convince you to buy her a Captain America costume and fall asleep on your head. Literally.”

“My shoulders technically. I didn’t have the heart to move her.”

Steve’s shoulders shake. Maria feels her mouth twitch. 

“And the costume was Natalia’s doing.”

“Of course,” Maria says on a sigh. She steps forward, cups her daughter’s neck and tips Ella into her arms. Ella sighs, smacks her lips and curls into her mother’s shoulder. “The best assassin, beaten by the pout of a two-year-old.”

Bucky growls, a sound much more reminiscent of the assassin he is. “It’s effective.”

“I’ll remember that the next time you argue with me over orders,” Maria retorts, eyebrow arched. A moment later, however, her face is softening. “Thanks for looking after her.”

“Thanks for trusting me to do it. Me and Natalia.”

Steve squeezes his shoulder. “Always Buck.”

It isn’t until they’re in the car that Maria turns to Steve. “You want to have the ‘favourite parent’ argument again?” she asks, smile dancing over her face and eyebrow in the air. 

Steve sighs as he takes in his daughter, from the hood that resembles his cowl to the little shield backpack she wears, Bucky Bear’s head poking out of the zipper. “No. No I don’t.”

So he kisses her instead. 


	10. Braxton-Hicks

“Pepper, no. I’m fine.” 

“You’re not fine! You went into labour in a Board of Directors meeting.”

Steve pushes Maria’s office door shut with a quiet click. Her gaze comes up from the tablet and she offers him quite an epic eye roll. 

“I saw that,” Pepper snaps. 

“You were supposed to,” Maria retorts with the easy camaraderie of two women who know the other isn’t going anywhere, her other hand reaching out for Steve. It’s not for her, he knows, because her face is utterly calm. The comfort of her touch is for him.  

(She’s been getting better and better at that, both over their years together and specifically over the last eight months. For someone who isn’t actually carrying the Kid Who Tap Dances on Mom’s Bladder, he needs a surprising amount of comfort.)

“And, in case anyone cares, it was false labour.”

“Mr. Pillar fainted!”

“He has three kids, Pepper. It’s not my fault he’s too busy working to have even considered paying attention to how they came into the world.”

Steve snorts a laugh, even as he takes her hand and settles on the floor in front of her. He curls her arm around his shoulder in the process, lets her fingers stroke over his heart as his smooth over her forearm. He does have to give her credit. She looks entirely unruffled. It soothes him more than he’d thought given Henry’s frantic phone call. 

“I told you to take it easy,” Pepper’s scolding through the tablet. “You promised you wouldn’t over do it while I was away.”

China, Steve remembers as he tilts his head back. Maria takes the invitation and cards her hand through his hair. 

“Braxton-Hicks comes from more than stress levels.” Because Maria has done all the reading. She hasn’t had much of a choice given the number of people around her who are wholly invested in protecting Captain America’s kid. “Dehydration for one.”

He’s about to go get a water bottle from her mini-fridge before he notices the one leaking condensation on her gorgeous glass coffee table. He thinks maybe her grin is edging closer to a smirk. 

“It’s already passed anyway. There’s no reason for me to change anything I’m already doing.”

Maybe not, he thinks, but she’s being particularly tactile with him and it’s too much evidence to the contrary for him to believe that she’ll be working the rest of the day. Only Maria, he thinks, would put up an argument when what she’s being asked to do is already part of her plan. 

(He doesn’t let himself think she’d been waiting for him, even if the signs of that are all there too. The gentleness of her touch, the way she doesn’t bat his hand or flinch when he flips to run a hand over their daughter, the fact that she’s even in a prone position to begin with. It’s all things he would have ordered her to do. She’s doing it for her, sure, for the baby as well, but he knows she’d rather be sitting at her desk combing over files, not lying on her couch arguing with Pepper.)

“Look, Steve’s even here.” 

The tablet shows up in front of his face and he offers Pepper a weary and resigned wave. 

“Good. Then go home. Stay home. I’ll be back Friday.”

She sighs, and Steve thinks about laughing. Maria is excellent at doing what she wants while letting others believe it had been their suggestion. (And there’s no way on this planet she’s risking this kid, not after eight months and everything she’s been through. Everything they’ve been through.)  
She shoots him a bit of a baleful look. He just chuckles. He’s not getting involved. He knows better than that. And he knows if he stays out of her argument with Pepper, she’s more likely to let him convince her to work from home. 

The heavy sigh she releases makes him look up, her tablet screen once again blank. 

“Home?” he asks quietly.

“Not you too.”

“Home now, back tomorrow,” he bargains easily, tugging the tablet from her lax grip. This isn’t the first time they’ve made this kind of deal and even at eight months, he doubts it’ll be the last. “Henry’s worried.”

She lets out a strange choked laugh. He’s been a hell of a guard dog since she’d shared her pregnancy with the colleagues that needed to know. He will never tell her it makes him feel better when she leaves the house, knowing that there’s someone on the other end watching out for her. 

“Okay,” she says, though her tone and her smile are indulgent. “Home. I’d rather have you hovering than Henry. You’re less annoying.”

He kisses her for that, then helps her up. She sighs and runs her hand over her belly. But it’s Steve that leans down, settles his hands over hers and says, “Just a little longer, Bug. Don’t you go getting ahead of yourself.”

“Oh my God, get out. My office is a no sap zone.”

He chuckles, pushes himself up and takes her mouth, feels their daughter kick against his hand where they’re still on Maria’s stomach. 

“Ugh, home,” she repeats against his mouth. “Now.”

He obeys.


	11. Maria getting bad news

Turns out, being the “sell out” to the private sector does not preclude Maria from bad days, especially when she maintains her close connection with SHIELD. Granted, the days aren’t as frequent as they were when she’d been running straight missions day in and day out, but she has always been an expert at what she does and that includes running the comms.

Today, she lost four. 

This one hurt. As a new mother herself, she finds that losing agents with kids is harder now than before Ella had come along. So the decision to pull out, to leave men behind, hurts a little more than usual. 

She uses her finger on their door, steps into Tony’s generous family suite and drops her bags where she stands. Even her keys splat on the floor and that brings her husband out of the kitchen. Maria pays him no mind, too focused on what she needs. 

And what she needs is her daughter. 

(Sometimes, it’s strangely terrifying to look back on her life and think of how seamlessly Ella fits. They’ve struggled - she’s struggled - because it’s different, having a physical person rather than the idea of one and the bump of her, but she’s not as terrible at being a mother as she’d anticipated. She gives a lot of credit to Steve for that, for using her pregnancy as a way to get her used to coming home at a half decent time, taking the time for family, for their relationship, but she’s also proud of herself for not returning to old habits now that she doesn’t have to take care of herself quite as closely.) 

Ella is asleep. At three months, she still sleeps constantly, but Maria’s just glad they’re down to one feeding a night, and that’s if Ella even wakes. Maria knows she shouldn’t reach for her daughter, should leave her sleep but she can’t. 

Ella comes easily, still light as a feather, and only shifts for a moment before her instincts remember that this is her mother. She settles in a moment later and Maria pulls her close, burying her nose in her daughter’s baby smell. 

“Maria?”

She shivers because she wants to squeeze her fragile baby daughter and feels Steve approach. 

“Hey.”

“Hi,” she replies, finally shifting to settle Ella more comfortably. 

Steve’s broad palm cups her cheek and in a rare show of absolute vulnerability she turns her face into the touch. His breath catches and he reaches for her other hip, turns her carefully into the tightest embrace he can provide without squishing Ella.

“How many?”

Her breath hitches and she hates herself for the ball of tears she can feel in her throat. “Four.”

“Maria,” he breathes. “Sweetheart.”

She knows the mantra that comes next about how this is something the agents chose, that they knew what they were getting into, that no matter how hard she tries she can’t always do everything right.

“There’s a mole,” she reveals. “Somewhere. We were missing intel that would have kept them alive.”

Intel they both know she would have factored in, would have considered.

“JARVIS is looking into backgrounds, trying to find out what we missed. What we missed. God, Steve.”

Her knees give out and he catches her effortlessly, holds both her and Ella as her head bows again. He cups her head, digs his fingers into her scalp in that way that grounds her so wonderfully.

“Agent Patten has a son.”

His little hitch actually makes her feel better, makes her feel like she’s not in this alone. He has a way of doing that for her without making her feel weaker for it. Just… not alone anymore.

“You know it doesn’t always go the way you want,” he says after a few minutes, when her shoulders aren’t shaking quite so bad. “And I know you, sweetheart. If it is within your power, you bring everyone home. Maybe singed, maybe a little bit broken, but you bring them home.”

“Steve-”

“This is out of your control. It was out of your control. So, Lieutenant. What are you going to do?”

Her entire body vibrates for a moment and she sighs when his fingers tighten in her hair, his hand squeezing her hip. “I’m going to cuddle my daughter and be thankful I came home.”

“Maria-”

She lifts her head, meets his gaze. “And in the morning, I’m going to find the son of a bitch that screwed up my mission.”

He barks out a laugh and takes her mouth, shifts like he’s trying to be mindful of the baby she still holds, but wants nothing more than to tumble her to the floor. She lets him take, holds Ella a little bit tighter as Steve ruthlessly plunders her mouth. After she’s cuddled her daughter she’ll let him take her apart, shatter her and put her back together again; she’ll follow his mouth when he pulls away with a desperate grip on his neck and his arms. But right now, the original adrenaline is wearing off and Ella’s starting to shift against her chest like she knows she finally has Mama and Maria finds herself sighing as Steve pulls away.

“Dinner time,” he murmurs, looking down at Ella, running a finger along their daughter’s cheek. “Tea?”

“Maria.”

Her eyes flutter with all of the beautiful emotion he infuses that singular word, just her name. Her smile feels lighter when she opens her eyes. “I know. Me too.”


	12. Ella as a princess

Maria’s not against Ella pretending to be a princess. Sure, it wasn’t her thing growing up - not that she had many  _things_  when she was so busy dodging her father’s angry fists - but that doesn’t mean she’s particularly against Ella’s fascination with them. 

It helps that Pepper is, in Ella’s eyes, the modern day princess. Steve’s perpetuated the idea as much as he can, absolutely enamoured with the idea. Maria can’t argue with the idea that Pepper is Ella’s modern day princess. 

That doesn’t mean she’s necessarily over the moon when she comes home from work to find Steve and Ella having tea and cookies with Ella in the princess gown Tony had gifted her at Disney World last year. 

“Mama!”

“Hi, baby,” Maria murmurs, catching Ella before she can tumble off the island stool. God, her daughter’s getting heavy. “How was your day?”

Ella’s eyes are wide and round. “We had a busy day, Mama. We had to go hunting for mac’n’cheese and grouchy pills in Foodville, then the bears tried to take over the land of the dolls and we had to have peace talks over juice time. And  _then_  Cap’n ‘Merica and Bucky Bear had to save me from the quicksand! It took them  _forever_. But it’s okay. I rescued myself.”

Maria has to blink for a moment as she takes it all in. She looks to Steve. “Wow, Bug. That is a busy day.”

Steve chuckles, leaning on the counter as he watches them. She loves that look in his eyes, awe and worship. It never ceases to make her think that even something like motherhood is as easy as shooting a stationary target. “El, why don’t you go get your soccer stuff on, okay?” 

Ella cuddles closer to Maria as she releases a put upon sigh. “I wish it was baseball day.”

“Tomorrow,” Steve reassures her. “Sooner than you think.”

Then Ella’s scrambling to get out of her mother’s grip. Maria sets her down, watches her scamper half way across the living room before she pivots and comes back. She waves for her mother to bend down, then smacks a kiss to Maria’s cheek. 

“”m glad you’re home, Mama.”

“Me too,” Maria promises. When Ella’s in her room, she turns a raised eyebrow to Steve. “I didn’t think playing pretty princesses was quite so… dramatic?”

He shrugs. “Seemed like the right thing to do. I’d much rather Ella be a benevolent ruler than a selfish one.”

Maria barks out a laugh as she lets him take her in his arms, kiss her slowly, thoroughly. 

“You know she was the one who decided the leader of the bears and the leader of the dolls should join us for juice?”

“How very diplomatic,” she murmurs in response, finally letting the tension of the day leak out of her muscles. Sometimes, just how easy it is to let Steve take some of her burden worries her. She’s never been the dependent sort. But then she sees how hard Tony fights when he has Pepper to come home to, the different ways Barnes and Nat weave in and out of each other’s orbits without it affecting how deadly they are and she remembers that having something to fight for isn’t a weakness. 

“There’s no reason princess games and tea parties can’t teach manners or compassion.”

“Or how to rescue herself from the sandbox, apparently.”

He drops his head to her shoulder. “Do you know how hard it is to vacuum up all the sand she tracked in here without waking her from her nap?”

She chuckles as she runs her hand through his hair. “Let Stark fiddle with the vacuum.”

He hums, lifts his head to kiss her again. “Coming to soccer?”

“Yeah,” she says on a sigh, because as much as she’d like to take some alone time with her husband - it’s been a while - she really does love going to all of Ella’s extra curricular activities when she’s home. “Let me change.”

“Head of Security Operations to soccer mom. I like it, Lieutenant.”

She laughs as he turns her in his arms, awkwardly walks her to their bedroom. “You also like me with my gun in hand hours before I cuddle Ella at bedtime.”

He presses his mouth to her temple before letting her go, taking a seat on the end of the bed while she wanders towards the dresser. Jeans, a lazy t-shirt…

“It’s absolutely stunning to think of you gunning down Hydra, tough and strong and hard, before you turn around and become this soft, mushy thing for our daughter.”

 _Our daughter_. It always gets her and it does now, sends a shiver scorching down her spine. “I am not mushy.”

She feels him come up behind her, slide the zipper of her dress down agonizingly slow. His hands are warm on her skin as he pushes the fabric off her shoulders. “Of course not.” His mouth presses against her shoulder and she feels her knees sag, just a little. He laughs at her. 

“Ass.”

“You like my ass.”

“Mama! Daddy!”

His forehead drops to press against the back of her neck. “I love her, but sometimes her timing is atrocious.”

Maria turns, kisses him. “Distract her while I get dressed. And don’t forget to pack her water bottle.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The next day, when Ella wakes up, she all but throws a temper tantrum when Steve tries to talk her out of wearing her Captain America costume all day. Bucky, who’s on babysitting duty, just about dies laughing. 

Maria only feels pride.


	13. Ella's Somersault

She sees Steve do it first, entirely by accident. 

Normally, Maria doesn’t like bringing Ella to the training facility. She and Steve have very strict rules about how much “battle” Ella is allowed to see. They shower after missions and training - Ella will  _not_  associate gunpowder with her parents, not until she can understand what it means - and keep work talk very carefully away from little accidentally prying ears. 

But sometimes, they don’t get a choice. And that’s how eighteen month old Ella ends up on Maria’s lap as she watches training, gumming her way through an Arrowroot cookie because she utterly refuses to use her teeth. 

“Daddy!” Ella exclaims, as she shifts on Maria’s lap, no longer entertained by what her mother is doing on her tablet. “Daddy!”

“Yeah, baby,” Maria answers absently, noting down the way Bucky twists out of the way of a bullet. His sides’s still bothering him from the last mission and she doesn’t like how close Natasha is sticking. “Daddy’s working.”

“Daddy Cap! Vroom!”

She hears Coulson chuckle beside her even as she watches Steve’s shield ricochet back. He tumbles out of the way of a laser beam, brings the shield up to deflect the next one back into the tech. The chatter on the comms is an absent buzz in her ear - they can get down right rude and the last thing Maria needs is that kind of language getting into the vernacular of her kid - as Ella hums around her cookie. 

“Two left,” Klein calls from the computer bay. 

The exercise lasts another five minutes, maybe six. Then the Avengers are standing in the middle of the broad training room, some of them puffing from effort, some of them already moving to pick up tossed knives and relatively undamaged arrows. 

“Debrief in ten,” Steve says over the radio and Maria sees him look up. Their debrief won’t be waiting ten minutes. 

So she deposits Ella on her nearby play mat, a soft crinkly thing that Ella loves pattering around on. The gooey Arrowroot cookie hits the floor in favour of a half-chewed Iron Man and her much beloved Bucky Bear just in time for Steve to stride through the door. 

“Daddy!”

“Hey, Bug.” He looks torn for a moment before he leans down and kisses her head, cowl in his hand, shield still on his back. 

“Daddy Cap.” It’s said with all of the solemness an eighteen month old can muster and Steve’s mouth tilts in a smile. 

“Yeah. And I have to talk to Mommy, okay?”

“Mama Cap?”

“No,” he says, a little bit of resignation in her voice. Ella refuses to call Maria Mommy. “Mama’s the boss.”

It’s enough for Ella to turn back to her toys, and Steve turns to her. “So.”

“Barnes isn’t well enough to be in the field. It’s knocking Romanoff off her game. Are they fighting again?” 

They bicker and argue their way through the first five minutes of the leader-on-leader debrief before they both hear a thump. The room goes silent as they turn to Ella’s mat. She’s sprawled on her back, surprised for a moment before she bursts into hysterical giggles.

Steve’s mouth turns up despite himself and he exchanges a resigned and exasperated look with his wife. This kid. Their kid. Reckless little thing. 

“What did you do, Ella-Bug?” Steve asks, handing Maria back her tablet so he can approach his daughter. “Did you fall?”

“Daddy Cap,” she says as she rolls herself over, pushes herself to her feet. Then she bends over, head first, hands by her ears. It’s not unlike one of her baby yoga poses right up until she pitches herself forward. Steve gasps, but Ella tumbles effectively to her back, looks up at him with bright blue eyes and a huge grin. 

“Daddy Cap!”

“Oh,” Steve says in that tone he gets when Ella does something he thinks is just amazing. (Then again, he’s constantly amazed by little Ella these days.) “It’s a somersault, El.” 

Ella shoves herself up and does it again, laughing maniacally when she lands on her back. “Daddy!”

“Just like Daddy,” Maria agrees. “That’s a good somersault, Ella.”

“Somersault? We got a little gymnast here,  _zvezda moya_.” 

“Uck!” 

All it takes is a glare to quiet Klein’s snickering. It’s not Bucky’s fault Ella’s still working her way around English, let alone the Russian and French she’s picked up along the way. 

“Gonna show me, El?” 

And sure enough, Ella, babbling to herself a little tumbles herself over for the fourth time, sprawling on her back and grinning up at her Uncle Bucky, proud as can be. Bucky reaches down with his metal hand, dances it over Ella’s stomach until she giggles and convulses, her little hands coming up to grasp at the plates of his wrist. 

“Quick learner, Ella,” Natasha says softly from behind Bucky’s shoulder, the rest of the team trickling in behind them. They all take their turns with Ella, even if Tony can’t stop grumbling about how abusive she is to her Iron Man stuffy. 

Eventually, Maria sighs. “When you’re done.”

Bucky just grins up at her, unrepentant. “Not my fault you decided it was bring your kid to work day.”

Maria arches an eyebrow. “It wouldn’t have to be if you would just admit you’re still not wholly healed from Bogota.”

“Awe Boss!”


	14. Ella thrives in the sun

Ella thrives in the sun. 

Steve thinks it’s funny because his Ma used to kick him out of the house on days he was strong enough saying he’d be sick all his life if he didn’t get out and grow in sunlight. He thinks of that moment fondly now as he watches Ella toddle towards Maria.

Central Park is beautiful in the summer, and it’s a rare day where the stifling humidity has passed for a moment. He’d packed a picnic while Ella watched Bubble Guppies, bundled toddler and all required accoutrements into her stroller and headed for the park with a quick text message to his wife telling her to join them for lunch. 

“Mama!”

“Ella.” And while there may not be all that much emotion in Maria’s voice, the way she scoops their daughter up is with the beautiful desperation of a mother separated from her child for longer than she’d like. 

“Hey,” he murmurs when he’s close enough, ghosting a hand down her spine. She’s changed now, in a light teal pair of denim shorts that showcase her long, long legs and a light white t-shirt that wrinkles and flows over the curves of her body. Modelling agencies missed out on this woman. Not that he’s complaining. He likes her much better as his wife than he ever would, seeing her spread out over glossy magazine pages. 

“Hey,” she replies easily, loud enough to be heard over Ella’s chatter. But their daughter will not be ignored, her little palms pressing against Maria’s cheeks to take her mother’s attention. Maria goes willingly, wraps long slender fingers around Ella’s wrist to kiss her daughter’s palm. Ella bounces in her arms, almost out of her arms and Steve swoops in to pick her up before Maria can lose her balance. 

Ella squeals in laughter as he tosses her into the air, her little hand gripping his tshirt when he catches her and props her against his hip. One hand goes immediately to her mouth and he hears Maria laugh as she tugs it out. 

“Hungry, El?” 

And as much as Ella can ask for food when she’s hungry, her chubby hands make the grasping gesture before she lays her head on Steve’s shoulder. Maria’s face is soft, the face that wishes she had even a sliver of his talent to capture these moments like he does hers. 

“Come on, Mama,” he says, shuffling towards the picnic blanket. “Lets eat.”

They do, Ella making an absolute mess of her cheese cubes and Ritz crackers, tossing a few grapes into the grass before either of her parents can stop her, but an entertained toddler means time with his wife, so Steve’s happy to let her waste a few grapes for that. Most especially when he can sit shoulder-to-shoulder with Maria against one of Central Park’s massive trees. 

“I took the afternoon off,” she murmurs, reaching over to pick a leaf out of Ella’s hair. 

“Oh?” He knows better than to tease her about it, knows what it takes to make Maria take time off. Sure, Ella’s changed all sorts of things, but Mara’s still, at her core, a workaholic. 

She lets her head drop to his shoulder for a moment and he can’t help but look down at her. She looks tired, he realizes, gets his arm around her shoulders. 

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t offer anymore and he doesn’t ask, just reaches for Ella when she tries to balance on uneven blanket and ground. Maria opens her arms easily for their daughter, lets her curl up in her mother’s lap. 

“She’s getting big,” she murmurs, tips her body so it curls just a little bit more into his. Part of him twitches to clean up the picnic, to tuck all of the food back where it can be kept cool, but the bigger part of him wants to stay here for a moment, with his family. 

And it’s obvious Maria’s feeling it too, the need to grasp these moments with all of them. He’s not sure if it’s because she’s had a day where nothing seems to go right or if she’d just looked out the window and decided summer with her family was more important than the work in front of her. He doesn’t care either way, to be honest, so he reaches out, curls her into him just a little bit tighter. Ella’s eyes flutter and her babbling slows to little murmurs. Her little head is nestled in the curve between their bodies and Steve can’t help stroking his hand over her head. 

He wants all of these moments, he realizes as Maria strokes her fingers over Ella’s chubby thigh. He wants to cling to them, the happiness, the contentment, everything he knows neither of them truly anticipated until Ella was already on her way.

It blindsides him sometimes, just how much he loves them both, the depths of what he feels. Maria must feel it, because she lets him curl closer, lets him bring his arm over them both until he can brush his fingertips against her thigh. She tilts her head a little, lets him kiss her in the middle of Central Park, over their daughter and with the remains of their picnic spread in front of them. 

And everything, absolutely everything, is perfect. 


	15. Ella and her Uncle Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ella has a bad day while her parents are on a mission. Naturally, she turns to her Uncle Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know. I've been a mess of Ella recently and now there's this because it's the only thing my head-achey brain would actually write.

Ella loves her parents. Adores them even. Honestly, she doesn’t have many complaints. They let her do her own thing, they support her in her every decision and even if she gets so, so mad at them when she can’t use the parkour court for a week or isn’t allowed to play in Uncle Tony’s lab because she refuses to clean her room, well, she does eventually get it. 

But there is no one in the world like her Uncle Bucky.

It’s not like they have any special ‘thing’ really. She’s heard all the stories, about his arm and his past and his relationship with her dad, his relationship with Aunt Nat too. But it’s the same stuff she’s heard from her parents, from Aunt Nat, from Uncle Bruce and Uncle Tony. Her family’s always been a psychologist’s wet dream. 

Uncle Bucky though... 

“Hey, Kid. What brings you down here?” 

She adjusts the strap of the backpack slung over her shoulder. “Bad day.”

And she had resolutely not wanted to trek the whole way back to Brooklyn, to the wonderful apartment she shares with her parents, with her father’s drawings all over the wall and her mom’s collection of ninja stars -  _ninja stars,_ this is her life - still spread across the table. 

They’ve been gone two weeks.

Ella’s not worried, per se. They’d said three, when she’d come home to find them shoving clothes in black duffles, her mom’s gun strapped to her hip and her dad half way in his uniform. And Ella just hadn’t wanted to go home to that empty place. 

Uncle Bucky doesn’t ask questions, just steps back and lets her onto the floor he and Aunt Nat have shared for Ella’s whole life. She has great memories in this suite.

“Did you bring clothes?” Uncle Bucky asks, reaches out to get her shoulder, to pull her into his arms. Ella’s body tenses for a moment, before she relaxes with a heavy shudder, her arms coming up under his to grab his shoulders. It’s surprising how reassuring the solid cool metal can be beneath her fingers. 

Ella shakes her head. “Wasn’t planning on coming by this morning.”

He grunts and Ella grins into his shoulder. “Shoulda just stayed here  _zvezda_.”

“M’old enough to stay by myself.”

“That’s not why and you know it,” he retorts, pulling back far enough to tweak her nose. Ella wrinkles it in response, lets go so she can trail over to the island and drop her bag on a stool. “You wanna talk about it?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Of course it is. It always is,” Uncle Bucky replies, reaching for two bowls. The ice cream comes next, even though it’s late November and New York is quite happily sinking into the pre-winter cold. Then comes the tub of candy they keep in the island cupboards. Two giant spoons follow and Ella sighs as she accepts one. 

“Semi’s coming up,” she says. “Just before Christmas.”

He knocks at her spoon, arches an eyebrow.

“Oh. Semi formal. Kind of like prom, but... not.”

“Is this about a guy?” he asks, pokes the ice cream her way. Three scoops later, she pokes it back to him. “’Cause it’ll take me maybe five minutes to get tac-ready.”

And this is why she comes to Uncle Bucky. For all he’s been through - and there are  _stories,_ one of which includes an anecdote where he held a gun on her mom once, in case Ella needed another reason to think her mom was super badass - he’s entirely unapologetic about the fact that he will quite literally kill anyone that hurts her. Or Aunt Nat. There’s a good story about that one too. Aunt Nat tells it with pride ringing in her voice.

“No one to kill today, unfortunately,” Ella says, smiling around her spoon. She always cheats like this, takes a spoonful before she digs into the candy. She knows it drives Uncle Bucky up the wall. Sure enough, there’s the glare. It makes her smile wider. “Plus, I don’t want to scare him away, Uncle Buck.”

“You should probably rethink that. We’re kind of a bunch of idiots.”

Ella leans forward, catches her uncle’s cheek in a little kiss. He grunts again, side eyes her with a sort of glare that makes her giggle. Her grumpy Uncle Buck. 

“You’re not,” she says as she settles back on the stool. “Aunt Nat just likes to say it. Except Uncle Tony. I think she actually thinks he’s an idiot.”

“S’cause the guy’s a genius,” Uncle Bucky says around his mouthful. “He’s required to be inept somewhere.”

“Five dollar words.”

“More like two.”

“Anyway.” Ella pulls a red and yellow gummy worm from the container. It always reminds her of the treasure box Aunt Pepper used to keep in her office, all sorts of little toys when Ella was little. She’d dig her little hands through it for hours, quiet as a church mouse in her mother’s office. “It’s just... pins and needles, you know? Everyone’s waiting to get asked, or waiting to ask and it’s just...”

“No one has any damn guts anymore, Ella Margaret.”

Her head comes up, eyes wide. “You full-named me.”

“Did not,” he frowns. “There was no Rogers.”

“Close enough. Even Mama and Dad don’t full name me anymore.”

He points his spoon at her. “That’s your Daddy and don’t you forget it.”

She barks at a laugh. “Did he whine to you about that? I can’t be thirty and calling him ‘Daddy’.”

“Of course you can. You’re Ella Rogers, named after-”

“The most awesome woman you and dad knew before you knew Mama and Aunt Nat, I  _know_  Uncle Buck.”

He harumphs, actually makes the sound like an old grandpa. Then dumps a handful of peanuts onto her sundae. God, she hates peanuts.

“Hey!”

He tosses a few into his mouth, crunches on them for a moment. “So, this guy.”

Ella’s shoulders slump. Aunt Nat would be pissed. “ _You telegraph too much, Ella,”_  she’d said once when Ella had hit the mat for the fourth time in a row. “ _There’s no need to tell the enemy more than they need to know._ ” 

“It’s stupid.”

“So you’ve said.” He just shrugs at her when she glares at him, sucking a gummy worm into his mouth. “Talk,  _zvezda moya_.”

“He won’t ask me because his best friend’s in love with me.”

She spits it out, almost in one breath. Uncle Bucky doesn’t so much as blink, just glances up at her before taking the few steps to the fridge and the whipped cream inside. Ella wrinkles her nose as he sprays a tower on his sundae, then a handful into his mouth. 

“Gross.”

Uncle Bucky grins around the mouthful of whipped cream, then swallows. “Can you be in love at sixteen?”

Ella arches an eyebrow. “Ask Aunt Nat.”

“That doesn’t count,” he retorts. “Extenuating circumstances.”

Ella snorts. She’s seen them together and she highly doubts Aunt Nat didn’t know what she was doing. And yes, okay, Ella has a thing for ageless romances, but he doesn’t need to know that. He mocks her enough as it is.

“Regardless.”

Uncle Bucky shakes his head. “You’re right, it’s stupid.”

And yes, okay, there’s a very real sense of vindication that races through her because it is  _dumb_ , but there’s also a real sense of helplessness. “What do I do?”

“Did you tell him it was stupid?” 

Ella smiles despite herself. “Not in so many words.”

He taps the side of his head. “Men are stupid, Ella.”

She rolls her eyes. "Aren’t friends supposed to be supportive though? I mean, Alex is totally going to break Vanessa’s heart, but she wants to go out with him. I’m not going to say ‘no’.”

“If I remember the story, you did.”

“Of course I did, she’s an idiot. But it’s what she wants so, whatever she needs to do.” She points her spoon at him. “ _I_  am a good friend.”

“The best,” he agrees, a smirk dancing across his mouth. “Back to the guy.”

Ella sighs. “We both want it,” she says. “I mean, we’ve talked about it. Pretended we were adults and everything, but he refuses to even talk to Paschal about it.”

“Paschal’s the friend.”

“Brent is the guy.”

“Brent what?”

“Nuh uh. No background checks. Do you know what I had to threaten Mama and Dad with so they’d stop?” 

“A mission with Natalia?” 

“Exactly. And Grandpa Nick would have let me do it too. Him and Uncle Phil.”

“Natalia wouldn’t.”

“She wouldn’t know until it was too late. We have it all worked out.”

“That’s... terrifying.”

“Thank you. Same standard applies here.”

“I don’t even have his full name.”

“And you’re not getting it. God, I am so glad you hate Facebook.”

He frowns, dark and menacing. “That site is ridiculous. If I wanted to hear people whine about their problems, I’d use Twitter.”

“Aunt Darcy’d be so proud.”

“She’s a menace.”

“She’s going to take me for a tattoo when I’m twenty-one.”

“She is not.”

“Mama said so.”

“And your dad?”

“Doesn’t know. You know better than any of us that with Dad you ask forgiveness, not permission.”

“Jesus, that sounds like your father.”

Ella beams, flicks her eyes back to her ice cream and moves some of the M&Ms around. “I know I picked public high school to have a normal school experience, but I didn’t expect it to come with unrequited love.”

“It’s his loss,” Uncle Bucky says around a mouthful of whipped cream and what may have once been Sour Patch Kids. 

“That doesn’t actually help as much as you think.”

He shrugs. “Like I said, tac-ready in five minutes, tops. Ten if I have to get Natalia.” He offers her a wrinkled nose that her dad always says is like the Bucky of old. “She’s slow.”

“I heard that.”

Ella opens her arms immediately to her aunt who wraps her up tight in strength and lavender, a scent Aunt Nat only carries when she’s enjoying long stretches at home. 

“What brings you here?” Aunt Nat asks, reaching over to swipe a finger through Uncle Bucky’s whipped cream. Ella rolls her eyes as Aunt Nat pops the finger into her mouth under Uncle Bucky’s intense gaze. Honestly. They’ve been together forever, but Ella isn’t sure there’s ever been a time Uncle Bucky hasn’t looked at Aunt Nat like she’s everything. 

“She’s having guy problems.”

Aunt Nat arches an eyebrow. “And you’re sending James?”

“Of course not,” Ella replies, straightening her back even as she wraps her arm tighter around her aunt’s shoulders. “I don’t need Uncle Bucky.”

“Steve and Maria are still in Berlin,” Uncle Bucky pipes up, like it explains everything. Apparently, from Aunt Nat’s hum, it is.

“I’m not supposed to know that,” Ella points out, turning back to her ice cream. “Even if Dad promised to bring me back a new Ampelmann phone case.”

“God, he is still terrible at keeping secrets,” Aunt Nat says, palming a handful of Fuzzy Peaches. “And lying. Ella, your father cannot lie.”

“S’okay. Mama can.”

“I don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to answer,” Uncle Bucky points out.

“She lives with assassins, spies and secret agents. I bet she’s come up with a whole elaborate tale of her life to tell new classmates. El?”

Ella shrugs. “Of course. I can even tell the part where I got kidnapped at six and my entire life changed with a straight enough face that people have to believe it’s true because it’s impossible that I made it up.”

Uncle Bucky pointed his spoon at her again. “There’s nothing there to be flippant about, young lady.”

Aunt Nat pushes away from the island. “So, Boy Drama precludes rom-com from tonight’s festivities, thank God. I was thinking thriller.”

“Can’t. Nightmares,” Ella says on a sigh. “They’re stupid.”

“Now that is accurate,” Uncle Bucky agrees. “Nightmares are stupid.”

“They’re-”

“Subconscious ways the brain works through trauma,” Uncle Bucky choruses alongside her. They share a grin while Aunt Nat frowns. 

“I used to have the naked-in-front-of-my-classmates one all the time back in Brooklyn,” Uncle Bucky reveals. “I can remember being about... eight maybe? Stevie and I were headed to school and I looked him right in the eye and asked him if I was really wearing pants.”

Ella snorts and picks up her bowl, follows Aunt Nat towards the television. “What’d Dad say?”

“That if I thought Rebecca had stolen my pants, it’s probably something I should take up with my Ma.”

“Did your sister steal your pants often, James?” Aunt Nat asks mildly, opening her arm for Ella. Ella plops down immediately, shuffles close. Uncle Bucky takes her other side, boxes her in where she’s safe, where she can feel them both. 

“Nah. Just on wash day.”

She curls up between them and listens to them bickering, her problems not solved, but knowing she’s not alone either. She’s never been more grateful for her messed up, utterly loyal, and amazingly beautiful family. 


End file.
